Slowly Going Bald

My fellow men:

TAG, AXE, and their ilk will not get you laid. Women just think you smell like a 7th-grader that smells like a gym locker. It's a cute fantasy and all, to think that you could actually get cruised more than Nick Lachey, but it's not gonna happen.

Anyway. Just wanted to get that out there.

Thanks for your time.

Dan

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Meh.

Clickety-click.

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Thursday means one thing and one thing only:

The Pajiba trade round-up.

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Over at Pajiba, we do our best to not only review movies and TV, but also to make you better people. Dustin's latest entry in the Guide hits it out of the park once again. I'm kinda pissed I didn't think of it, and of course I can now never do anything remotely resembling it without hating myself, but that's beside the point. You shoul all just go read it right now:

The Guide to What's Good For You — The Mix Tape.

Call it derivative or just a canny throwback, I still say this is the best poster I've seen in a long while. More info about the film here and here.

In case anyone missed it, here's a round-up of Clinton's appearance on Fox News:

• The interview (part 1 and part 2)

• Jon Stewart's take:

This week's EW cover story is all about Caprica. Awesome.

Finally, someone who hates electricity as much as I do:

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A few summers ago, I was staying with a girl in the Valley for a few days, crashing on her couch. She was already gone to work when I got up in the morning, so I made my way back to her bathroom to grab a shower. Her bathroom was cluttered and girl-messy, but nothing really out of the ordinary.

Until.

I lifted the lid of the toilet to pee and instantly flinched back, clutching my hands together as if I'd seen a rat or a ghost. I could barely process conscious thought; my mind was a swirling series of questions. What is that? Wait, is this why things have been going the way they've been going? Is that a string on the end? Did I know there was a string? Why didn't she flush this down? Does the string get annoying? Why do I feel like I'm 12 again? Why do I feel like something died in here? Why the hell didn't she flush this down?

We all got a little older that day, I guess you could say.

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Sample dialogue:

"The monsters are doing it doggy style."

...and...

"Go douche, grandpa."

Man, the sacrifices I make for you people: Clickety-click.

UPDATE: The review now has links to Krista Allen's skin flicks on IMDb. For those of you who just have to know.

P.S. "Lay Down Your Burdens" was a little reminiscent of "Phase One." Revolutionary. Evolutionary. A whole new way of thinking. My mind has been blown.

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• Your weekend at the theater:

The inherent repressed homoeroticism of Jackass. (It's too complex to do a pull quote, so just trust me.)

"And there are some moments here of genuine poetry, glimpses at a country and a way of life that exists more in the nostalgic hearts and minds of storytellers than it ever did in the real world. But it’s marked throughout by a detached coldness, and the film’s reach exceeds its grasp, causing the tale to shrink in the telling until all that’s left is an idea of the movie that might have been."

"For aviation and/or historical enthusiasts, there should be plenty of eye candy to make it worth the effort. For the rest of us, it should be pretty obvious as to why there hasn’t been a movie about this stuff in over 40 years."

"The conclusion of Fearless, of course, is all about virtue, reminding us of the importance of honor and patriotism, using the requisite dissolves and close-ups we’ve come to expect from bad American films. Somehow, in fact, I suspect that if this weren’t an Asian martial arts film that no one would accord it with the kind of respect it will inevitably receive, despite all of its over-the-top Roland Emmerich flourishes — and really, why should we expect better from Ronny Yu, the director of Freddy vs. Jason and Bride of Chucky."

• Everybody's favorite speechifying egalitarian returned to the small screen this week, and I was sufficiently pleased.

• October is so close now.

• At last, an honest look at the danger that is Elmo.

• The jury's still out on this one, but Will Arnett can do anything he wants as far as I'm concerned. I'll show up.

• Holy frightening fascists. And I thought I knew crazy people. Man. These people are nuts.

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Fair, but disappointing:

Clickety-click.

P.S. I'm an officer now. Cool.

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From time to time, I've used this space to express my displeasure with certain people or things.

But my list just might have to take a back seat to this one, which is a pretty entertaining list of annoyances from one of the many law students I seem to know. Enjoy.

P.S. My fantasy team is doing pretty well. I feel all manly and important.

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What happened to the cinnamon roll Pop Tarts? Where'd they go? They were great. Easily the best flavor of Pop Tart. Seriously. Ralphs just stopped carrying them.

Anyway:

The Pajiba trade round-up.

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Because the middle of the week is a time meant for doing nothing at work except screwing around on the interwebs, I hope you enjoy this little break from the endless grind of cubicle life:

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From the moment it started, "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip" pretty much had me. Everything old was new again: The show had the same look and feel of the fourth season of "The West Wing," the last year Sorkin worked on that show. The credits even used the same typeface, which is extremely satisfying to person like me. But "Studio 60" is about a weekly sketch comedy show, and as such bears more similarity to Sorkin's first show, "Sports Night."

Sorkin even uses the same phrases, like he always does. Having someone say "I hate his breathing guts" or that they'll do "whatever I damn well please" isn't so much a line of dialogue as it is a tried and true Sorkin standby. Half the reason I watch now is not see what's new but to see how he'll use the stuff he's said before. In this way, Sorkin is one of the most consistent writers in modern television: He will always return to the same themes, the same ideas, and examine them through the same worldview.

Even the names get recycled from show to show. Matt Albie and Jordan McDeere echo Albie Duncan and Jordan Kendall, and Danny Tripp is Danny Concannon is Dan Rydell. And I'd bet all the money in my pockets that "Studio 60" will make good use of Lisa and Simon in the future, whoeever they might wind up being.

Granted, the pilot episode wasn't perfect; it lacked Martin Sheen's sheer screen presence or Peter Krause's ill-advised 7th-grade skater 'do. But it had enough pop to see it through an hour, which is more than you can say for most shows.

It's just too soon to tell where this thing will head: whether it will sink, succumb to its own sense of importance, or manage to walk the high road and provide some genuinely good TV. No matter what, I'll be with it all the way.

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What else can I say?

It's finally here.

You constant readers, all seven of you, will likely see my reactions to the show soon enough. I'm just glad Sorkin's back on the air.

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"And now, the reason we all came here: Hardcore male nudity!"

Kidding (sort of):

Clickety-click.

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Now that I've got your attention:

• I'm going international. Check out my debut in the Guardian.

• Go read about De Palma. Seriously, go now. You'll learn things, and feel better about yourself.

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• Cruel Intentions definitely loses something when edited down for cable. Definitely.

• Wait, wait, wait. You're telling me that lonelygirl15 is one giant hoax? Man. Talk about losing my innocence. The interwebs lied to me. Nihilo sanctum estne?

• Oh holy crap, October can't get here fast enough.

• I mean, seriously, I can understand cutting to commercial as Sarah Michelle Gellar starts to grind on Ryan Phillippe (and I mean really grind). But they totally killed The Kiss between Gellar and Selma Blair, which is (a) weird, since FX isn't one to shy away from gay moments in programming, and (b) more than a little disappointing, since that was a pivotal high school moment for me and pretty much every guy my age. Shame on you, FX.

• Man, Memphis Belle was a lot better before I knew what separated good movies from the not so good. And a drunk D.B. Sweeney screaming "I don't wanna die!" seems, well, a bit over the top, even for a WWII movie, which are admittedly a pretty overheated genre.

• Another great video that's well worth 4 minutes of your day.

• Because five years is a longer time than you'd think; because young men in their prime do weird and impossible and life-changing things; and because you never shake the memory of unity sit-ups at dawn; this is for the all old guys out there, and for all the new ones who are spending tonight staring at the O in "not":

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Because it's Thursday:

The Pajiba trade round-up.

P.S. Libby was never gonna sleep with you, Hurley. Never. She was a clinical psychologist who was either (a) undercover or (b) nuts herself for a while. But it doesn't matter, because man, it was never gonna happen. Never.

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I'll do the second part first:

I've updated and expanded the categories on the left-hand sidebar, for those of you who're just dying to peruse old entries grouped by theme. There are sections for Texas, California, TV, Politics, and more, including — believe it or not — Sports.

Which brings me to the slightly bigger news:

I have, in a manner of speaking, joined a fantasy football team. (I've also inspired more ground rules about the Rule of Two.) Granted, I will not be involved with the team in any way, and will not go to any efforts to watch games or read the sports page or learn stats or anything like that. I'm more of a silent partner. A very silent, uncaring partner. Still, it seemed like the 21st-century man thing to do, so there you go. Now stop asking me about it.

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Because it's Wednesday, and because you need to, be sure to check out the TV Whore's excellent round-up on what should and shouldn't make it on your DVR. Here's a taste:

Instead, I’ll be watching its new competitor, “Grey’s Anatomy” (ABC, Sept. 21). Last season was frustrating, but the show is just entertaining enough for me to put up with its theatrics (and the most annoying female character since Ally McBeal). ... Fox, meanwhile, is keeping “The O.C.” (9 p.m., Nov. 2) in its home, and since its demo probably intersects with “Grey’s” a lot more than “CSI,” I expect that Ryan and the Cohens will see a bigger negative impact as a result of ABC’s move. Which means this will probably be the Orange County crew’s last season. Even still, as bad as last season was, I’m still going to let it keep a Season Pass just for those occasional moments when it still pulls a laugh out of me (and if it gives me just one scene as funny as last year’s Marissa Cooper death, it’s totally worth it)."

Now go read the rest, then come back and enjoy some classics:

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I miss "Lost."

Sure, on the surface that sounds like an easy enough problem to solve. The show's third season starts in a few weeks, and the second season just came out on DVD. But re-watching the first few episodes of the second season, I was struck again by the problems that would come to plague the show's sophomore year. In no particular order:

• Man oh man, this show is boring. The Season 1 episodes always presented a specific challenge: Leave the cave/beach/jungle and go find the water/food/pilot/cocaine in the cave/beach/jungle. The characters were constantly moving, and the flashbacks beautifully illustrated each castaway's traumatic past and how it had led them to Australia and how it connected with any number of other characters. The story's development had an organic quality, the crystallization of the growing relationships stretching out before the viewer. Unfortunately, this all came to a screeching halt in Season 2. The show did more than just get stuck in neutral: It fell down the hatch and got stuck in a giant hole in the ground.

• Seeing the characters walk into the hatch for the first time is completely different than when I saw it happen last fall: Whereas I was then filled with a sense of awe and foreboding, this time around I felt nothing but a sinking dread as the castaways discovered the dank, circular room that would come to dominate their lives and stories for the season.

• I've only made it through the first five episodes in the past week, which definitely shows a lack of motivation on my part. As I slid the first disc into the DVD player over the weekend (I'd delayed the inevitable till Saturday, hoping that would help), I felt none of the familiar rush of anticipation I usually get when starting a newly purchased season of TV. Always a bad sign. I watched out of duty, not joy.

• It doesn't help matters that I'm watching Season 2 of "Lost" so soon after re-watching Season 2 of "Veronica Mars," which is easily one of the best shows on TV and definitely the best show that no one's watching (and it's only on against "Law & Order: Another One," "Standoff," "The Unit," and "The Knights of Prosperity," which means it's officially the best show airing in the Tuesday 9 p.m./8 CT time slot this fall, so you'd better all tune in). "VM" packs more into some episodes than other shows do all year, something that became painfully obvious when I finally struggled my way through to the fifth episode of "Lost" Season 2, which is actually titled "... and Found" but could more accurately be called "The One Where Absolutely Nothing Of Consequence Happens."

• The "... and Found" episode was another Jin/Sun flashback, which means it will merely be boring; a Charlie-centric episode is enough to make me throw things at my TV. And instead of continuing the flashbacks from Season 1, where Jin starts to be drawn into a life of violent crime by his wife's father, the whole stupid episode was about how they met. The island story involved Mercutio, Sawyer, and Jin being rounded up by the Tailies and setting out for the good guys' side of the island. (I'm already eager, by the way, for Ana Lucia to take one in the chest.) The only moment worth anything was when Jin and Mr. Eko hid in the bushes and saw the Others walk by, clad in tattered pants, one of them dangling a child's teddy bear. That moment could easily have been grafted into another episode involving the Tailies' trek through the jungle, which would have bought the producers an entire episode to, I don't know, make something happen.

• Maybe it's because I've been spoiled by Sorkin and Whedon, but the dialogue on "Lost" has long since degenerated into vague generalities that do their best to remain monosyllabic: "It's all going to be ruined," "This isn't right," "I can't—..." followed by a trail-off. I'd give anything if these people talked in complete sentences.

• Only five episodes in, I can already see the show getting bogged down in itself and losing its sense of purpose, of direction. The numbers, the hatch, the symbology: It becomes a heaviness that weighs on the characters and the viewers, crushing them.

• And if it was a giant electromagnetic snafu that wrecked the plane, what's the point of having everyone be connected to everyone?

• There's only so long a show can draw out a mystery before people get tired of caring (call it the Twin Peaks Theorem: an inverse relationship exists between unsolved mystery and viewer interest). "Lost" is great at execution — introducing new mysteries, broadening the puzzle — but it's horrible at resolution. Answers come few and far between, which used to be exciting but is now just frustrating.

That said, I'm still a loyal viewer. Hell, I stuck with "The West Wing" through its abysmal last three seasons; I know what it means to commit to a show and see it through. I just hope that "Lost" gets back some of that momentum, that magic, that made it so captivating in the first place. Fewer flashbacks and more plot progression and interaction in the present would be a good way to start.

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In what could be the saddest and truest indicator yet that cable programmers have really, really run out of ideas, I was fortunate enough to stumble across a phenomenally stupid show on the Travel Channel, which seems to be a repository for all the crap Discovery Channel just can't bring itself to air.

The show appeared to be a countdown show, the kind of mindless program that spends an hour talking about roller coasters or chocolate factories or something appropriately mild that's best suited for at-home moms, shut-ins, and young children of questionable mental development. This episode announced its intention to count down the 10 best bathrooms in Las Vegas. Bathrooms in Vegas. Bathrooms in Vegas. I can't say it enough. Bathrooms in Vegas.

I only made it to #9 before I blacked out; my roommate found me curled on my floor in a pool of my own blood and urine. But before I lost consciousness, I witnessed the show's breathless accolades for a Star Trek-themed crapper at the Hilton. The narrator, who must surely hate himself, exhorted viewers to "Set their phasers to urinate!" No lie.

It was the greatest thing I've ever seen.

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• Another rough weekend at the movies:

"The dueling stories often make Hollywoodland feel like two separate films in search of greater meaning: One film is a brassy detective thriller about a lonesome private dick chasing a murder and possible cover-up that extends throughout Hollywood; the other is a soberly paced drama about the trappings of fame and one man’s sad descent into a life he never really wanted. But by attempting to merge the two, Coulter winds up with an ungainly film that never seems to know what it wants. It strives at times to be a period drama with elements of a crime thriller, and also to be a potboiler with poetic flourishes. And here’s the kicker: They’re both good movies. Just incomplete ones."

"It’s a Renny Harlin film that basks in what he believes to be youth culture and more accurately resembles an Abercrombie & Fitch ad with superheroes. The final showdown sequence? Two guys hurl what looks to be giant amoebas or “Street Fighter II” hadoukens at one another for 10 minutes. My God, this movie is asinine."

"A query I spoke silently to the Almighty just hours ago: “Lord, why didn’t this movie come out earlier in the summer when I was suffering (albeit willingly, I admit) through the endless parade of overhyped, underwhelming blockbusters You deemed necessary, in whatever infinite wisdom You possess, to place on our screens?” I spoke thus, boldly, because truly The Protector is what I was wanting all summer long."

• I'll say it again: This is a pretty great list. I'm amazed and pleased that this many people have seen Zero Effect.

• Mmm, books.

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shoes or flip-flops: flip-flops

Tony or Ridley Scott: Ridley

"Mad TV" or "SNL": jam pencil in eye

Coppola or Scorsese: Scorsese

Fox News or CNN: turn TV off

the book or the movie: the book

paper or plastic: whatever kills the planet faster

Stewart or Colbert: Sophie's choice, man

Old 97's or Whiskeytown: cyclical

chunky or smooth: smooth

fold or wad: fold

regular stall or handicap: handicap

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Down is up:

Black is white:

Affleck didn't suck.

Okay then: Clickety-click.

Also: I met Nathan Fillion in the courtyard outside the ArcLight. He's a nice guy. I had to control the urge not to just crap myself out of sheer joy, but I hung in there. This is easily the coolest thing that's happened to me all year.

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Two quick hits:

• LibraryThing is a pretty fun little toy. All the conspicuous consumerism of MySpace or Facebook, now with links to Amazon. Check out random books from my library on the left-hand side of this page. Start your own account. It's free, and let's face it, you know you're gonna do it. So just go do it.

(If you're wondering, I picked up "Intended for Pleasure" when my college's library had a clearance sale. For the whopping price of $0.25, I got my very own 1970s-era guide to how Christians are supposed to get their swerve on. [It seems like the authors were being almost willfully ignorant by not including chapters like Repressing Guilt: Why Hating Yourself Is Good For You, or Sublimating Sexual Desire: The Latent Homoeroticism Of Sports In The Modern Male Mind, or even Don't Look Right At It: Seriously, You'll Go Blind And Maybe Go To Hell.] There are even little drawings, done with dashed lines like they're schematics or something, as if the authors weren't sure if they'd managed to completely suck all possible fun out of the subject and, just to be sure, they inserted some genuinely unsettling hand-on how-to sketches. Really, it's probably the best 25 cents I spent in college.)

• In case I haven't mentioned it, you should all listen to Watusi Rodeo on Sunday mornings. If you're not out here in L.A., listen online. It's worth it. Trust me on this one.

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You all know what to do:

The Pajiba trade round-up.

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Man alive, Wednesdays sure do suck. If you're bored (and you all know that you are), be sure to re-read The Best Movies You've Never Seen. And when you're done with that, pass the time with these:

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Because we at Pajiba care about you:

The best movies you've never seen.

I also think the art we cooked up is particularly sweet. Long live Daryl Zero.

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"Dan," I can hear you all crying, "we'd like a break from this constant flow of talk about movies and TV and such. What about local Texas politics?" Well, here you go then:

The Burka blog.

As colorful as NIOSA. Enjoy.

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• This was a rough weekend for movies, but a good one for reviews:

"When an auteur as widely admired as LaBute makes a movie as clumsy and hackneyed as this, a critic may be persuaded to call it a genre deconstruction or a parody — it’s the critic’s Get out of Jail Free card for a director who has badly misstepped — but I’m going to go out on a limb and call the film what it is: genuinely idiotic. ... LaBute’s Wicker Man goes beyond mere badness into clumsy abuse of the most exhausted genre gimmicks (it’s got hideous twins speaking in unison, a dilapidated old barn where rotten boards suddenly collapse beneath our hero’s feet — at one point, he even wakes from a nightmare to find himself in — another nightmare!) and a creepy misogyny that should keep film-studies majors busy theorizing for decades."

"She thinks he’s a video game programmer, but after he sticks his hand in a waffle iron to keep his adrenaline going, she quickly learns otherwise. And for anyone only familiar with Smart from mindless, girl-next-door romantic comedies and her stint on “Felicity,” her ditzy vamp will kind of blow your mind here, especially when she engages Chelios in some laughably absurd sexcapades on a Chinatown sidewalk, up against a newspaper stall, and during an … uhm … unfulfilling car chase."

"Crossover wants you to leave with the message that sports aren’t the avenue to success for any but a select few; that education is the surer course for essentially everyone. Unfortunately, it all kind of gets lost in the shuffle; the fact is that the only moments where anyone appears to express genuine emotion or possess any kind of anima occur on the court."

• TV is great. Just great.

• In the Bedroom was fantastic, and this looks like a great follow-up.

• Easily the best part of this year's Emmys, which once again sucked:

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Within days of signing up for the HBO package, I realized that the network's bread and butter was moderately successful films from the mid-1990s. One of the movies they always seem to have in rotation is Wayne's World, and after what feels like the 700th viewing, I realized that the movie is still watchable. A few reasons:

• Wayne uses totally random slang that in no way bears a resemblance to things people ever said. After reminding his psycho ex Stacy that he'd dumped her, he said, "Are you mental? Get the net!" This never fails to entertain me. It's like taking a field trip to an alternate universe.

• Meat Loaf plays a bouncer named Tiny. Every time I see that scene I think/hope/pray he'll start doing "Paradise by the Dashboard Light."

• The Grey Poupon gag. Oh man, it's like I'm a kid again.

• I love that Wayne and co. go to a joint called the Gasworks that they describe as an "excellent heavy metal club," when in reality it's completely lame. Related: Cassandra's band is ssaid to play metal, when they're really just playing awful, watered-down, soundtracky pseudo-rock. This is the equivalent of making a film with Creed and Nickelback and referring to them as rock acts, i.e., this is outright wrong. The film came out in 1992, a year after Metallica's black album, and yet the music it sells as "metal" is pretty much Poison with slightly less make-up. This never fails to make me smile.

• Even 14 years later, the film remains semi-quotable: "If Benjamin was an ice cream flavor, he'd be pralines and dick." I said this last week.

• Remember that whole "schwing" thing? Man. What were we thinking? I learned what the phrase meant the hard way, after my best friend dared me to say it to the girls sitting behind us in the auditorium while my class was on a field trip. I can't blame him, either. It's pretty funny to think of me in elementary school turning to classmates and giving a pelvic thrust while not having a clue what I was doing.

• Tia Carrere's pidgin speak. It's kinda awesome.

• Chris Farley's cameo as a security guard. Seeing him onscreen with Mike Myers is both an interesting generational overlap of "SNL" performers and a sad reminder that it's been at least a decade since "SNL" was good.

• That's pretty much it.

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"Hey Peter, man, turn on channel 9, it's the breast exam!"

Okay then: Clickety-click.

The film wasn't screened for critics, there's no poster or trailer to really speak of, and it's getting a limited release in L.A., Austin, Dallas, Houston, Atlanta, Chicago, and Toronto. Do with that info what you will.

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